


Cloudy Rabbit

by disaster_imp



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Binge Drinking, First Meetings, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, bombard, no beta we die like renfri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29917698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disaster_imp/pseuds/disaster_imp
Summary: A few weeks after Geralt's Big Mistake, Jaskier runs into Lambert.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert
Comments: 21
Kudos: 50
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fiction Challenge #017





	Cloudy Rabbit

The early, unexpected heat of a late spring day pools on every inch of exposed skin, soaking into his leather armor to sit with an inaccessible burning itch beneath his clothing. Sweat beads on his skin, but lacking a cooling breeze to collaborate with, the heavy wet dampness only adds to his discomfort.

Covered from head to boot-toe in wyvern blood, its head dangling from his trophy hook and trailing the evidence of his passing with every soft scuff of his boots on the packed dirt road, Lambert makes his way to the alderman's house with all the enthusiasm he can muster, knowing that the only things waiting for him are short pay and contempt. Why does he do this again? Oh right, he never had a fucking _choice._

Raucous noise pervades the street from the tavern ahead, interrupting his thoughts. The lingering effects of potion-enhanced senses render the sound painful, sawing through his bones with a violence most humans are lucky enough never to experience. Fortunately, the alderman's place is on the very edge of the far side of town, surrounded by farmland. Unfortunately, he still has to make his way through the whole bloody town to get there.

The tavern door flies open, angry shouting sending searing spikes of pain reverberating through his skull. A brightly-dressed patron carrying the stench of a three-day bender is thrown through the door with an indignant squawk, and lands on his backside at Lambert's feet. He pushes himself back and makes to run back inside when a lute is thrown out after him. Lambert catches it mid-air, more out of reflex than any desire to interrupt its trajectory, and the man turns on him with as much grace as a bear woken too early from hibernation. 

_"Hey! 'shme. My. MINE. Gishmebackmylute,"_ the man demands, reaching for it. Lambert lowers his arm, letting the man grasp it by the neck and tug it away. He's about to move on when the man's eyes widen at the sight of his eyes, moving to his medallion and then back again. Lambert braces for the inevitable negative reaction. 

_"Wischer! Hello. Nice Wischer. Here, hold thish,"_ the drunk slurs, shoving his precious lute back into Lambert's bloody hands and pulling a dagger out of his boot with a truly impressive lack of coordination. He staggers back towards the tavern, holding the knife by its blade. 

_"Fuck,"_ Lambert mutters to himself, catching the bard by the arm before he can open the door and walk into a well-placed fist. 

_"Needsh my pack,"_ the man objects, fighting him. Lambert carefully removes the knife from his hand, sharp enough to have drawn blood in a shallow wound across the man's hand. He drags him back to the other side of the street. Pushing him down to sit on a step, Lambert passes him the lute and drops his wyvern head next to him.

 _"Whyve you got a - you - you. You killed a dragon! Oh no,"_ the man says, picking up the severed head and stroking it gently. _"Hellomy friend, 'm shorry you're dead, why'd you kill a dragon?"_

"Not a dragon, a wyvern," Lambert corrects.

 _"Met a dragon onshe,"_ the man hiccoughs. _"Beautiful. All gold. Kind of an asshole, fuckemall..."_

Lambert leaves the bard to his incoherent ranting and slips quietly into the tavern, returning a minute later with a pack that carries the same stench of stale alcohol as the bard. 

When his pack lands with a thud on the step next to him, the bard looks up. Lambert collects his severed wyvern head and walks away, heading once again for the alderman's house.

 _"Wait,"_ the bard calls from behind him. A minute later, unsteady steps follow him. Lambert ignores him, holding a steady pace.

 _"Hey,"_ a petulant complaint comes from behind him. _"Shore fault I got thrown out, leash you can do ish wait for me!"_

He should hold his tongue and keep moving.

He's never been very good at shoulds though, has he? 

"My fault? How do you reckon that?" he asks, turning to face the man.

 _"Wischers!"_ The man takes a deep breath, and starts to sing. _"Toss a coin to your Wisher, Oh Valley of plennntyyyy, Oh valley of plennntyyyooooohhoohhohh..."_

Lambert knows better than to argue with a drunk man. _He does._

...he does not. 

"How is it my fault if you sing a song about Witchers and get thrown out of a tavern?"

Unsteady steps follow him all the way to the alderman's house, where they thunk solidly into a cherry blossom, making it rain its flowery confetti down on everything around them. Inside, Lambert is, predictably, offered less than half the promised pay.

The heavily intoxicated bard, much to everyone's surprise, pulls out Lambert's own dagger and threatens the local authority with something drunkenly indecipherable, and a signet ring. 

Lambert gets his pay.

The bard continues following Lambert out of town, part way through a shady forest, finally stopping with a thud much louder than the previous footfalls near the bank of a river.

 _He's not your problem, Lambert,_ Lambert's internal monologue insists.

What the hell, he could do with a rest, and cooling down, and the bard certainly needs a bath. Lambert's nose twitches as his malodorous scent wafts along the path.

Shedding his armor, he drops the lute with his gear around a bend in the riverbank and picks up the bard, stopping only to remove the bard's boots and retrieve a cake of soap from his own pack. He drops the dead weight of the man into the slow-moving water fully dressed. The bard wakes up sputtering for only a few seconds before his body relaxes again, fading to unconsciousness. One piece at a time, Lambert removes his clothing, swirling it around in the water to rinse before throwing it onto the bank, all the way down to his braies. Carefully holding his head above water, Lambert soaps his hair, and washes weeks worth of grime away from the deceptively foppish man. 

Not so foppish, underneath the clothing. He's well-muscled, tall and strong, and clearly, usually, well-fed and well-dressed. Lambert wonders what has happened to him to bring him to this sorry state. 

When the bard is mostly clean, Lambert lays him out on a grassy patch on the riverbank and lets him sleep. He spreads clothing out on the ground to dry, and goes to work on himself. The water is cool and refreshing, sparkling clean, and a wash and a cold swim are a soothing contrast to a particularly shitty week. 

Tired from a long hunt, Lambert falls asleep next to the snoring bard.

  
He wakes again with a start, day turned to night while he slept. Someone has covered him with a blanket to protect him from the chilly night air, and the sounds of a fire spit and crackle nearby, fresh-caught fish roasting on sticks planted around it. The bard, still clothed only in his braies, watches him from beneath a curl of dark hair. He reaches for his medallion, confused. Why hadn't he woken earlier? The man could have killed him in his sleep, taken his pack, his swords, his potions. _Careless._

"Relax, wolf," the man says. "I'm no threat to you."

"You're too silent to be no threat," Lambert snaps back.

"Sorry. I didn't want to wake you. I'm used to - look, Jaskier the bard, at your service. Doubtless, I owe you my thanks."

 _"Jaskier? Geralt's bard?"_ Lambert says in surprise. No wonder he wasn't afraid of a witcher.

"Not Geralt's anything," Jaskier snarls, his lip curled, his eyes glaring daggers, and Lambert's jaw clicks shut with a snap. Jaskier nods his head when Lambert remains silent. 

"You must be Lambert," Jaskier continues. "Not big enough to be Eskel, not old enough to be Vesemir. Heard you're kind of an asshole."

"Heard the same about you."

"An asshole wouldn't have pulled me out of whatever shit I got myself into this time, or cleaned me up. Least, not without taking _some_ advantage."

"You stank. Couldn't abide the smell."

"You could have left me behind," Jaskier points out. He picks up a stick of fish from around the crackling fire, and offers it to Lambert. 

"Couldn't. You're a tenacious little shit."

Jaskier hums noncommitally, and they finish their meal in a companionable silence.

With his hunger sated, Lambert's curiosity overrides his common sense.

"So what is a bard of your stature doing in a back-water town getting kicked out of taverns?"

"Short story? Geralt learned a truth he didn't want to hear, he took it out on me. Been appreciating the winer things in life for a few weeks, now."

"He cares about you. He's just..."

"Geralt. I know. It doesn't excuse his behaviour. Love is not always enough, my dear witcher, and I'm not going to hang around just so he can have someone to yell his repressed feelings out on. Can we... not? I'm sober for the first time in days, I'd really rather enjoy your company, here and now."

Lambert nods. Flopping back onto the ground, he points up to the full moon, hanging large and heavy in the clear sky. 

"Somehow, I expected Eskel to be the poet," Jaskier says, pillowing his head comfortably on Lambert's chest. Lambert wonders at the familiarity, at his own easy acceptance of the bard. _Not Geralt's anything._

"You ever wonder why people talk about the man in the moon? I've never seen a man, or a face... just looks like a bunch of fluffy clouds."

Lambert finds his fingers threading gently through Jaskier's hair, soft and silky and clean, while the bard chatters away.

"Looks more like a rabbit. Cloudy rabbit."

  


**Author's Note:**

> So look, there was a lovely cherry blossom writing prompt but once I started writing I completely forgot about the prompt and had to shove it in somewhere so if it seems out of place, that's why.


End file.
